‘They spoke as if I’d lost a puppy’: Heartbreaking pain of losing a baby

Melissa and Emidio Zaini with their son Harry after his birth. He survived for just three days.

FIVE years ago this month, Melissa Zaini gave birth to her third son, Harry. Three days later, she turned off his life support.

It was the hardest moment of her life.

“To go home with empty arms, that’s the cruellest thing any parent can go through,” she told news.com.au. “To leave that baby at the hospital, get into the car and go home.”

Harry was completely healthy throughout Melissa’s pregnancy, but when he was born, he came out “eyes first”, with his head tilted right back. He suffered a massive brain stem haemorrhage.

The birth was “traumatic”, Melissa says. The Queensland mother of two could tell something was wrong and told the doctor so, but by the time anyone realised what was going on, it was too late for a caesarean.

“The doctor said, ‘he can be born like this’, but when he came out and he was unresponsive and not breathing, silence filled the air,” says Melissa. “Then everyone started running around. It still haunts me, the memory.”

Harry was born with his head tilted right back and had a huge brain haemorrhage. His face was covered with bruises.

With bruises across his face, Harry was ventilated and put in a special care unit, but tests and MRIs soon showed he was brain dead. Melissa and her husband Emidio, now 40, had to make the terrible decision to switch off their child’s life support.

“We didn’t have to do it then and there but we decided to do it straight away, while we had the courage,” she said. “We didn’t want to prolong the inevitable.”

She was in pieces, but found herself treated as though she had “lost a puppy”.

“People say, ‘It’s OK, you can have another, you weren’t really attached, you didn’t know them’,” she said.

“There’s this feeling you shouldn’t grieve, and that’s wrong. From the moment you fall pregnant, these hopes, dreams and thoughts are in your head and heart. You love them from the moment they’re conceived.”

After the long journey home, the reality of what lay ahead began to sink in. “The morning after Harry died, I woke to having heavy breasts,” said Melissa. “My milk came in. It was very upsetting and reinforced that I should be feeding my baby. Also having that sagging tummy skin after giving birth and no baby to hold. It’s very emotional but also a very physical experience for mums.”

Evyn, eight, releases a butterfly in memory of his younger brother.

Marcus, now 10, at the Cairns Walk to Remember for Harry.

As the weeks and months passed, Melissa retreated into herself. She had been told support was available, but couldn’t bring herself to seek help. “I felt very isolated,” she said.

At first, friends and acquaintances clustered around her and Emidio with kind words and meals, but after Harry’s funeral, the support faded away. “They all disperse, disappear, everyone goes back to their lives,” she says. “That’s when I felt so lonely. It hit me worse than ever.”

The couple leaned on each other, but at times, Emidio would go quiet and Melissa would hear him sobbing at night. While female friends came forward to tell the grieving mother about their experience of losing a child, her husband didn’t seem to have anyone who had been through what he had.

But the Zainis are far from alone in living with this most painful kind of grief. Every year, one in four pregnancies in Australia ends in miscarriage, affecting 103,000 families. Around 3000 babies are either stillborn or die in the first 28 days.

“It’s unnatural to think of your child dying,” said Melissa. Almost a year on, she was able to face her grief, joining a Walk to Remember in Cairns organised by non-profit support group Sands Australia.

The Queensland couple had to make the devastating decision to switch off their child’s life support.

Two years later, she became pregnant with a girl. The reaction of her young sons, Marcus and Evyn, shocked her the most. They were distraught, breaking down in tears, asking, “what if this one dies, too?”

Melissa was scared as well, her heart racing every time she couldn’t remember the last kick, and her panicked calls to her doctor and obstetrician coming far more often than the last time around.

Nicola is now three, Marcus is 10 and Evyn eight. Harry would have been five.

Melissa used to be a nurse, but didn’t want to go back to that environment after her son’s death. She holds support meetings in Innisfail once a month and volunteers for Sands on their telephone helpline, speaking to other bereaved parents. She says it can be easier to speak to strangers than family, and does it as a way of honouring Harry’s memory, celebrating him rather than simply mourning.

“Every day in Australia, eight babies will be stillborn or die within the first 28 days of their lives,” Andre Carvalho, CEO of Sands Australia, told news.com.au. “Despite this number, for so many in society, the death of a baby is such uncomfortable and intimidating issue to discuss, which is why conversations surrounding stillbirth and newborn remain such a taboo. As a result, so many of the parents that call us for support tell, us that they feel alone, isolated and desperate at such a tragic time. This is why, we at Sands, are committed to breaking this silence once and for all and create a cultural shift towards great public awareness and understanding.

Melissa signs Harry’s name on every card she sends.

“As well as breaking the wall of silence surrounding the death of a baby, we need to ensure that

every bereaved parent in Australia has access to support and information, regardless of their location or cultural background. We at Sands are developing and expanding our services so that no bereaved parent in Australia is left feeling alone and isolated. We are also working with healthcare professionals to help them deliver the best possible care. We aim to launch a new training program and national care guidelines. We need to shape new future for bereaved parents in Australia — one that is filled with understanding and hope.”

Melissa says she has “four children, not three”, and she and her husband often discuss the milestones they have missed as each month or year passes.

“All the firsts — first smile, step, word, and like today, first day of school. It plays on our mind constantly that we will never see Harry grow up. Who would he have become?”

Holidays and anniversaries can be hard. “We baptised Harry the day before he passed away. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, birthdays and of course Christmas ... There is someone always missing from your table.

“My two other boys love the festive season. The first Christmas after Harry died was extremely difficult. I felt I still needed to go through the motions of Christmas for them, but I kept it low key. I was tearful and had a meltdown. I told my children I missed their baby brother and they were good about it.”

Every year, she buys Harry a Christmas and birthday present and donates to charity in his name.

And every time she writes a card, she signs it from the whole family: Melissa, Emidio, Marcus, Evyn, Nicola and Harry.

Anyone affected by the death of a baby can ring the 24/7 Sands support line 1300 072637 and talk to a Volunteer Parent Supporter or visit the Sands website, Facebook page or Twitter.